


Not his boyfriend

by Morethancupcake



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Jealous Oliver, M/M, Misunderstandings, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 19:09:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3422297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morethancupcake/pseuds/Morethancupcake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Oliver is not his boyfriend. He's not his boyfriend, yet, but he could be. Possibly."</p>
<p>Connor and Oliver are sharing a place. They have movie nights, cooking nights, Criminal Minds nights and sunday morning breakfast. But Oliver is not his boyfriend. </p>
<p>He has to do something about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not his boyfriend

Oliver is not his boyfriend. He’s not his boyfriend, yet, but he could be. Possibly. Like, it wasn’t that much of astretch, after all.

They already shared a place, thanks to the prices in this stupid city. Oliver had been the only guy that had looked nice, clean and blissfully normal. They shared a tiny bathroom and a tiny kitchen. They shared a pot of coffee every morning, and they shared tea before bed.

It wasn’t a spoken agreement, things were just easy with Oliver. Simple.

It was easier to throw their clothes together when one of them did a round of laundry, no need for both of them to lose their afternoons. It was easier to buy food for two, it was cheaper and, again, it saved time. Oliver didn’t mind doing the dishes, and Connor didn’t mind taking care of the garbage.

Oliver used to go out on friday, getting home very late, trying not to wake him up. He was usually curled up in a chair onnsaturday night, reading when Connor was getting ready to leave.

Again, it wasn’t really a rule, but they never brought anyone back.

On sunday, Oliver would go to the gym, and Connor would fight the hangover just so they could have breakfast together. They would talk about Connor’s new job, about the hellish schedule and the hours lost making copies and fetching coffee for everyone. Oliver would talk about his coworkers, about having to deal with their snarking comments and their laziness.

Sundays were Connor’s favorite.

But then there was movie night Monday. They would pick something, a classic if Oliver won, something new if Connor did. They would drink more tea and eat chinese food on the couch. Monday was good.

There was the Criminal Minds marathon they had started earlier this month. The other TV Shows Connor was addicted to, and Oliver was kind enough to endure in relative silence.

On wednesday Oliver usually took time to buy fresh ingredients and cook something new. A recipe from his childhood. Something he saw online. Connor was always happy to chop garlic next to him, and to hear him talk about his mom’s famous soups, and their nights eating barbecued pork with his grandparents.

Sometimes, not so often, but often enough, they would just sit under the big fleece blanket they both pretended to hate, and they would read in silence. It was nice, and peaceful. Sometimes, they would just fall asleep together on the couch, both cuddling under that same horrible blanket. It was nice. Really nice.

Oliver is not his boyfriend.

And he has to do something about it.

He’s not stupid, he knows Oliver is not ugly enough, he’s not stupid enough for people to leave him alone. His facebook page is full of comments left by strangers with douchey pictures, leaving douchey messages and making douchey jokes about douchey stuff.  
Sometimes, when it’s his turn to take care of the laundry, he finds cards with numbers written in a hurry. He’s not a saint, far from it, but what happens in clubs and bars doesn’t mean a thing, it’s nothing like the way Oliver knows how he takes his coffee in the morning, or the way he’ll save the last samossa just for him.

See, Oliver doesn’t want him, he doesn’t ask for anything. That’s probably why Connor is so freaking in love with him, because Oliver doesn’t even realize how wonderful he is. He just smiles this stupidly adorable smile and asks if Connor wants some ice cream, or if they should try that new korean place ust around the corner.

So yeah, Oliver is the one. Connor is spending an unhealthy amount of time watching his pictures and smelling his perfume on his own scarf. And he’ll deny it to his last day, but he did steal one of Oliver’s shirt, the very soft one, the one that smells right and perfect like Ollie.

He has to do something about it.

He takes a whole week to plan things out, to get things just right. Oliver complains, saying Connor is staring, but he isn’t, really.

Maybe he is.

He thinks about the obvious, getting roses delivered, with a card and some kind of poem. He thinks about fancy restaurants, and moonlight walks. It’s cliché, and cheesy, and Ollie deserves better than that.

He thinks about gifts. About hiding a new watch under his pillow, or next to his plate. He doesn’t have the money for a new watch, and he’s not sure Ollie would be happy with expensive stuff.

He thinks about making him breakfast on Sunday morning. He thinks about surprising him with pancakes (because that’s at least something he can cook) and fruits, and kissing the coffee on his boyfriend’s lips. Because Ollie was meant to be his.

He’s halfway through the first batch of pancakes when a giant emerges from Ollies room, smiling at him with tired eye and a tired smile. The guy sees it all, the roses, the pancakes. The table for two and the freshly squeezed orange juice, and his smile turns pitiful and sweet.

"You’re the roommate, right ? Conrad ?"

"Connor." He’s too stunned not to answer, not to shake the giant’s hand, and to let him ruin the surprise, grabbing a glass and a plate, making himself at home.

"Oliver didn’t say you were supposed to get us breakfast, I would have helped."

Connor mumbles something about class, and library, and having to go right now. He leaves the pan on the stove, and he hopes the giant will take care of things, because he just grabs his jacket and leaves, still wearing his sweats and his hoodie.

He’s halfway to the coffee shop when he realizes he has no key and no phone. He spends the day at the cinema, watching three movies in a row, ending up dizzy and exhausted. He waits until closing time, until there’s nothing he could do except coming back. He knocks at the door, and tries to smile when Oliver opens the door for him.

The giant isn’t here, and the breakfast table is gone. The flowers are still there. There’s a cup waiting for him, with a teabag neatly placed next to it. It kind of makes him sick, but again, it might be the candies and the soda he had all afternoon.

"I was getting worried." Ollie’s voice is soft, like he’s scared Connor will leave again. It’s not too far from the realm of possibility. "It was nice of you, to take care of breakfast."

"Yeah. Sorry I didn’t know you were busy." He burns his tongue and he puts too much honey in his cup. He wants to leave again, but he kind of needs to hear what Ollie has to say about this.

"I’m sorry. He was just too drunk to drive and… I didn’t really think."

"It’s fine. Congrats, I guess." Oliver is searching his eyes, and Connor is making it his mission to avoid them. He’s thinking about all the reasons he could use to go away, to go back to his room and sleep this awful day off. To start fresh, monday morning, to forget this day ever happened to him.

He realizes they never picked a movie for this week, and they’re out of beer.

"It’s not like that. He was drunk and I couldn’t leave him. He passed out after a minute. I promise, Connor." Oliver is getting close to him, and it’s really unfair because he really, really wants to believe this. "You bought flowers."

"Yeah, I did."

"You cooked pancakes for us."

"Yeah, apparently." Oliver is now a line against him. He drinking his tea, too, like they usually do on Sunday night. Soon they’ll have to go to sleep, and get ready for another week. They’ll have to plan what to cook on wednesday, and who would be on snack duty for tomorrow.

"It was good. You should cook more often."

"Maybe." He puts his cup in the sink, and goes to the bathroom. There’s nothing much to say, really.

He takes a shower and thinks about what Oliver says. He brushes his teeth and thinks about what Oliver says. He puts on a fresh pair of sweats, and has to stop thinking, because Oliver is there, waiting for him. Oliver takes his hand, and grabs Connor’s fingers firmly in his. He pulls a little, and he guides them in front of Connor’s door.

"My room ? Really ?" He hopes it’s clean. He hopes he can manage to hide the shirt under his pillow.

"I had to clean my sheets, I am too tired to make my bed."

"Well that’s romantic, Ollie."

Their first kiss has to be delayed. Everything is incredibly hilarious, suddenly. They argue about their side of the bed. Oliver is stealing the covers on purpose, and Connor retaliate by spreading himself onto most of the bed. They fight and they laugh again and it’s simple and easy. They fall asleep on the same pillow, and they are both late in the morning.

On monday night, Oliver opens the door and kisses him, before grabbing the pack of beer and the two bags of cheesy popcorn.  
Connor orders pizza, and his boyfriend tells him to go take a shower while he takes care of everything. He kisses Ollie again, once, twice, just because, before going. He smiles like an idiot, and does a little dance hopefully Oliver will never see.

He just had to do something about it.

**Author's Note:**

> hey ! you can read it (and find me) here : http://iwanttopizzamanyou.tumblr.com/post/111876363119/not-his-boyfriend
> 
> as usual, reblogs, likes, comments and messages give me warm fuzzy feelings.


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